Blood of The Son

The monster that men hunt in the night am I 
Fangs like razors, claws like talons, creature
Desecrator of life, drinker of innocent blood
Always running from the light of the sun
concealing, shrouding myself from its rays 
The giver of life on earth, the end of mine
yet could I call it life, this sad existence
sad excuse, shape of man, yet man no more
vessel to a soul, a soul long since gone
appearance human,  but without reflection
centuries of existence still without future
no soul, no remorse and hiding from the sun
wandering the world over journeys without end
a thirst unquenchable a thirst that is hunger
a hunger that destroys from within, burning
drawn to a hill I am, this hill, His Hill
three lone figures, suspended, awaiting death
for comfort but not like me, for undead am I 
blood dripping, calling, a free inviting meal
three figures, two on the side mattered not
held me no sway, but The One in the center 
drawn to Him I was as if through thirst, hunger
Eyes gentle, sorrows of the world swam therein
and a peaceful voice that could calm the storms
arms beaten, bloodied, I longed for its embrace
dripping from hands and feet, crimson rivulets 
Blood calling to still the hunger, I fought it 
and it toyed with me, teasing me, taunting me
I looked at Him as if to say “forgive me …”
He looked at me, smiled as if to say “you are”
I drank and watched Him die, 
I drank and saw my victims,  
I drank and saw myself  …
night turned with the coming of the morrow
There stood I in the light of the sun, 
its life giving rays reflecting my first day
In the Light of The Son … thirsty no more